When you are already here you appear to be only a name that tells of you whether you are present or not

and for now it seems as though you are still summer still the high familiar endless summer yet with a glint of bronze in the chill mornings and the late yellow petals of the mullein fluttering on the stalks that lean over their broken shadows across the cracked ground

but they all know that you have come the seed heads of the sage the whispering birds with nowhere to hide you to keep you for later

you who fly with them

you who are neither before nor after you who arrive with blue plums that have fallen through the night

perfect in the dew

(link)